Slytherin's Wish
by solroros
Summary: COMPLETE Silly little three-shot about Salazar Slytherin, the Room of Requirement, and the modification of well-known Potions. Seriously, funnier and fluffier than it sounds. Gift fic for a lucky reviewer. SS/HG
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi all! This is a little gift fic for Miss. Silver Star, who was the tenth reviewer on a particular chapter of 'By Candlelight'. See kids? Reviewing pays off!

Cross-fanfictional dedication to sarhea, who helped me fall in love with this pairing. I hope you enjoy this little three-shot!

~SSHG~

 _Sometimes I amaze even myself,_ Zar thought to himself as he put the room through its paces. Columns and creatures arose from nothing at his command, disappearing when he no longer needed them. His Room of Requirement would truly be a marvel, a fitting addition to the wonderful school he had built with his only equals in this age: Godric, Rowena, and Helga.

In all honesty, he considered Rowena more his equal than the rest – Godric and Helga were quite intelligent, but Rowena was downright brilliant. Too bad she was already married and with child, otherwise she would have made a good wife for him.

In his youth, Salazar had unfortunate romp that resulted in a child – a girl if he remembered correctly – but the mother wanted nothing to do with him. Still, he supported them as much as he was allowed and sent his illegitimate daughter gold and trinkets every six months or so. The locket he sent her last year had gone down particularly well, if her mother's cease-and-desist letter was anything to go by.

Salazar grinned to himself. He loved riling up Morrigan, even from afar. It was a pity she was as stupid as she was beautiful, otherwise she would have made a good wife. However, the whole unpleasant experience put him off women for some time. It seemed that by the time he looked up, all the good ones were taken.

Now here he was: settled in his profession and almost halfway through his thirtieth year of life. It was time to settle down and secure his lineage. Sure, he could let his mother arrange a match for him and _hope_ that she picked someone good... but in his arrogance, he couldn't imagine anyone but himself picking out a suitable partner. This future and unfound wife would have to be clever, cunning, resourceful, and beautiful.

Most of all, though, he wanted a partner. His parents had a loving marriage, as did his brothers and sisters with their respective spouses, and Salazar perceived that their harmony came from equality and trust. Though many witches and Muggles had approached the powerful wizard, none lit that fire in his soul or earned his unwavering respect. He would deny it til his dying day, but Salazar Slytherin was a bit of a romantic and entirely a perfectionist.

If he was going to marry, he was going to do it properly.

 _Too bad this room cannot find the one thing I require above all_ , he chuckled as he headed for the door.

Unfortunately, the room took that as a kind of challenge.

~SSHG~

Hermione Granger was having a bad day. A bad week, actually. Okay, okay, more like a bad six months – and for once it was nothing to do with the unruly state of her hair.

Shortly after the turn of the year, Professor McGonagall mentioned in her monthly letter that Professor Brewer, the fifth Potions professor at Hogwarts in as many years, was leaving at the end of the current school year. The Headmistress was in a dither about who could _possibly_ be qualified enough to fill the position where so many had _failed_!

Slytherin, the woman was not.

Though to be fair, Hermione was one of the most prodigious products of the Potions curriculum in at least one hundred years. Her research combining Runes with potions for greater efficacy, or previously undiscovered uses, had made her a desirable resource for the Ministry, St. Mungo's, and even Gringotts (who loved her variation on Veritaserum for sealing contracts). At the ripe old age of twenty-six, Hermione found herself in demand from all sides yet itching for a new challenge. She was stalled in her latest bout of research, and rationalized that interaction with young unformed minds might stimulate her own creativity.

Her then-fiance, Ron Weasley, was less than delighted by Hermione's decision to return to the halls of their youth. As a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons he was on the road often, but he seemed to expect that Hermione would be home and have dinner on the table whenever he deigned to return (often without warning, quite often interrupting a delicate experiment). His unwillingness to support her had been the final tear in the fabric of their relationship – leading to a few awful weeks when the _Prophet_ eviscerated her for choosing a career over her man, Ginny and Molly stopped speaking to her, and Harry chose to avoid both her and Ron rather than pick a side.

That was all weeks ago now. Things had settled down once she and Ron were out of their old place: Harry had started speaking to them both again, and it had been at least two weeks since Molly's last Howler. After finishing the last of her unpacking she decided to meander the castle and enjoy the summertime quiet while contemplating her latest potion – a variation on _Amortentia_ that allowed the drinker to only be attracted to their true love, rather than the brewer.

After being at Hogwarts almost two weeks, it was about time that something strange happened to her.

~SSHG~

No one was more surprised than Salazar when he exited the Room of Requirement and tripped over the woman on the other side. He spun so that as they fell she landed on top of him, both landing on the cold flagstones with loud 'oofs'. After a moment spent frozen in shock, the woman raised her eyes to meet his.

Being Salazar Slytherin, he was able to school his expression to hide his shock. The woman had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, doe-like yet gleaming with intelligence. Her hair frizzed out in all directions from her petite-boned face. Her body was pressed against his quite intimately – softness and curves and he hoped she would get up soon otherwise she'd find out about the part of his body that he was quite unable to control.

Almost like she had lit a spark within him.

The woman scrambled to her feet, giving him a chance to view her attire. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. She was wearing _trousers_ , some kind of shirt, and a black over-robe.

She spoke and held out her hand, but he found that he could not understand her.

Her confused expression mirrored his own.

~SSHG~

When the strange man spoke, it was like listening to someone speak English through a filter of German and bad French. Hermione was confused.

"Where did you come from?" she asked again. The stranger's expression darkened, which was really a shame because it added to the pleasantness of his features instead of detracting from them. Hermione's face darkened with a blush as she dropped her hand – the man was clearly not going to accept it.

"Do you speak English?" she asked, and the man continued to gaze at her in frustration ( _and dare she think it, lust?)_. This would never do. With a roll of her eyes, she turned towards the Headmistress's office. The man cried out, but Hermione motioned him to follow her instead of responding verbally. There was no sound of movement, so she glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see him already a few steps behind her.

"You certainly are stealthy," she said. "I wonder where you popped in from? The only thing up here is the Room of Requirement, but I never knew it to turn out fit men before. That certainly would have come in handy when I was a lonely teenager with only books and two immature boys to keep me company. If I had known I only had to stroll past on a sunny afternoon in July while thinking about a potion that gives me my true love for the Room to take pity on me and send me a fit bloke, I might have done it sooner. Let's get you to McGonagall to see if you're just a figment of my desperate imaginings."

She knew he didn't understand her, that's why she was talking so much.

~SSHG~

The woman had deduced he didn't understand her, so why was she talking so much? Salazar was getting frustrated with the strange woman, but not enough to dim his situational awareness. Those stained glass windows were not of his making, or his friends', and he would be damned if he had any barbarian suits of armor in his school! He hissed in displeasure at the British armor – as a native of Ireland, those suits symbolized repression and hatred, not safety.

Finally, they arrived at a monstrous statue. The woman said something and the statue hopped aside, gesturing them to the stairs it guarded. Once Salazar set his foot on the stairs, a little way behind the beautiful woman, they started moving. _What a waste of magic_ , he thought. _I could just climb the stairs like a man!_

At the top, a second female voice bid them enter. Inside, there was an elderly witch in tartans sitting behind a large, heavy-set desk. Paintings of witches and wizards looked down from all sides, making Salazar uncomfortable. He sensed many eyes on him, and heard several gasps from the nastier-countenanced paintings.

The woman he had run into spoke to the woman behind the desk, who regarded Salazar with a single raised brow. He was reminded forcibly of Helga, who, though kind, was extremely strict. A painting of an old white-bearded wizard behind the elderly woman said something with a chuckle.

"Oh!" the beautiful woman said, a look of excitement on her face. She turned to Salazar with a smile.

" _Linguistica Veritas!_ " she incanted with a flick of her wand. "Do you understand me now?"

"Yes..." Salazar said, the word feeling strange yet familiar on his tongue.

"It worked!" the woman giggled, clapping her hands together. "I've never used that spell before – I like to learn the language before I go to a foreign country-"

"Is this, or is this not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" Salazar interrupted.

~SSHG~

"Indeed it is, sir," McGonagall replied, giving the stranger a stern glare. "And how did you come to be on the premises? The wards did not alert me that any visitors were at the gates, much less wandering the seventh-floor and running over my Potions Mistress."

"I hardly think I'm a visitor," the handsome stranger drawled. "I am one of the founders of this school, and I would thank you to extend me some courtesy, Lady...?"

"Impossible," McGonagall breathed, voicing Hermione's thoughts.

"What an odd name," the Founder commented. "Well then Lady Impossible-"

"No, I meant that it's _impossible_ for you to be one of the Founders," McGonagall said. "Hogwarts has existed for almost one thousand years. If you were who you say you are, then you should look at least twice your age."

Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, what is your name?" Hermione asked, hesitation in her tone.

With a courteous bow, the man took her hand. "I am Salazar Slytherin, student of Merlin and a Founder of this illustrious institution." Much to Hermione's surprise, he kissed her hand with a roguish wink. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger," she said, snatching her hand back. "Professor, graduate of Gryffindor, and _mudblood_." She spat the last word, turning to McGonagall without catching the confusion on Slytherin's face. "May I be excused, Headmistress? I'm sure that you can clear up this matter without me."

"Of course, Hermione," McGonagall whispered, gesturing for the younger woman to leave. Hermione left without looking back at the man who, for all intents and purposes, had ruined her life.

~SSHG~

"Was it something I said?" Salazar asked as the young woman – _Hermione –_ left the room.

"Rather something your descendant did, and your House, and really actually _yes_ it's something you did," the older woman said, sitting down in a huff.

"And what is it I've done, Lady I-Refuse-to-Give-My-Name?" he asked, taking a seat before the desk despite her lack of offering one. Everyone started talking at once – the Headmistress and most of the portraits, though some seemed too angry to speak.

"Your vendetta against Muggle-borns made that young woman's life miserable!" McGonagall shouted, causing Salazar to jump back to his feet in alarm. Maybe it would be wise to move out of hexing distance. "Your House has been the bastion of bigotry and elitism for longer than most can remember, and Hermione, being the brilliant girl she is, was systematically targeted by Slytherins for the majority of her student life. And don't even get me started on your _descendant_. Tom Riddle -"

"If I may be allowed to defend myself?" Salazar interrupted. _Is everyone in this time so rude?_ "What supposed vendetta against Muggle-borns?"

The room was silent.

"You don't hate Muggle-borns?" The white-bearded portrait asked. Salazar snorted.

"That would be rather counter-productive, seeing as I am one."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this posted! I've been working on my original fiction and reading _a lot_. You'll see the next chapter go up swiftly after this one. And that's swiftly by the world's standards, not my usual posting ones.

Sorry not sorry for playing fast and loose with British mythology.

Also, shout out to _Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin_ by The Sinister Man where it's suggested that Alohomora isn't exactly a standard spell. This makes way more sense than canon.

* * *

Hermione closed the last book she had pilfered from the Restricted Section, sighing in defeat. Salazar Slytherin had been here a month, _a month_ , and she was no closer to sending him home than to convincing her coworkers that yes, Muggles had sent astronauts to the moon and no, they hadn't died in the attempt.

The past might as well be Pluto for how accessible it was.

Her brow furrowed in thought. Slytherin had not been what she expected. She huffed. Okay, he had been _exactly_ what she expected, but surprising all the same. Wasn't that the way of Slytherins? He was certainly intelligent and ruthless, ambitious and cunning, handsome and-

 _Alright, that's enough, Granger. Get it together._

Fit men might run into her in corridors, but they had no business traipsing through her mind. After all, hadn't she spent most of July and all of August avoiding him? Yes, she had. She hadn't spoken a word to him since her departure from the Head's office on the night of his arrival.

Well, that was overstating it a bit. She thought she might have asked him to pass the salt the other night at dinner, and their hands might have touched and that delightful spark had jumped from his hand to hers, but thankfully he hadn't taken that as an invitation to start talking to her. Which was great, really, because her thoughts were mostly focused on her variation of _Amortentia_. The latest batch had returned the strangest results. Like the original potion, it was designed to smell like the things that most appealed to the drinker. In her case, she smelled the familiar combination of fresh-cut grass and new parchment, which made sense. Years had passed since that day in Slughorn's class, and she took it as a good sign that her love potion did not smell distinctly like Ronald Weasley.

But the third scent was what troubled her. It was woodsy and masculine, and she could have sworn she smelled it before but she couldn't remember where. She was having difficulty deciding if the scent was a sign of success or a harbinger of doom.

She was thinking about calling it _Veritamortentia_ , but couldn't decide if that sounded stupid or not.

Hermione winced at how wishy washy she sounded in her own head. She used to be so bold, so brash. What happened to the Hermione who sent Umbridge into the forest? Who used a borderline-illegal spell to open locked doors? (Yeah, she had never mentioned that little bit to Ron or Harry, nor had they ever asked.) Sure, was so analytical to a point, but this was getting ridiculous.

With a heavy sigh she gathered together her books and made her way to the library, intent on returning with just as many. The students were due back in a week, and she was no closer to a finalized lesson plan than, well, Slytherin was to returning to his own time.

~SSHG~

Elsewhere in the castle, another bookworm was delving into ancient tomes.

"Rubbish." He flipped a page. "Balderdash." Another page flipped. "Oh for the love of Dagda!"

In a fit of pique, which he would never have allowed anyone living or dead to witness, Salazar threw the offending book across the room. It hit the far wall and landed on the floor with a thud, the title _A Comprehensive History of Wizarding Britain, 20_ _th_ _edition_ glaring at him reproachfully. He scrubbed a hand across his face, utterly bemused by the idiocy of his illegitimate daughter's descendants.

It had to be Morrigan's blood. Had to be – there was no way his progeny could be that _thick_.

First there was Mordred Slytherin, his great-great-grandson, who had taken it into his head to attack the Muggle King. (Who might also have been his father? Acton? Ansell? Arthur? Something like that.) That was just plain idiotic – even in Salazar's own time, there had been far more Muggles than wizards. It just wasn't _prudent_ to attack them. Better to strike from the shadows, where a quick escape was open.

Unfortunately, the idiocy of his line did not end with the bastard Mordred. Before he left for war, he had fathered a child whose own great-grandson, Oswold the Ornery, had led the first raid against the goblin enclaves.

Perhaps that explained the slow slide into obscurity that had plagued his line since the 1500s. Salazar considered it unwise to anger the people who guarded your gold, goblin or otherwise. That likely explained his rather frosty reception at Gringotts London last week, when Filius had escorted him to lay claim to what remained of his line's vaults.

There wasn't much, though he had been delighted to find three ancient trunks disillusioned in a shadowy corner. When opened, he found they contained much of his original research from the early days of Hogwarts' founding. While he was glad to have these links to his life, he frowned when he thought of who must have packed them and why. Despite his best efforts, he knew his face betrayed his sadness when he lifted a yellow blanket woven for him by Helga herself. A pattern of badgers and snakes ringed the edge, causing him to chuckle.

He had been surprised when Filius rested a tentaive, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I know what it is to miss fallen comrades," he said in a grave voice, so different from his customary excited babble. "Time, whether ten minutes or a thousand years, rarely makes a difference to the grieving heart."

It had been that day that Filius recounted the history of the Second Blood War to Salazar, not even raising an eyebrow at the way his friend carefully maneuvered the discussion to Hermione. The time traveler's estimation of Miss Granger had risen as Filius told the tale of three children who took down a wicked wizard with only their cunning, magic, and undying loyalty. (Well, undying loyalty on her part. Salazar had a less than stellar-opinion of her companions, who seemed to be callow boys.)

Salazar had taken quite a liking to the little Charms Master, who was wicked with a wand and a joke. They had bonded briefly over what it was like to face prejudice in the magical world, Filius sharing the same astonishment that Salazar himself was born of mundane parents and bore no ill-will to those who shared similar parentage.

That thought brought him to the true source of his ire. His descendants in the last thousand years might have been misguided or insane, but they were harmless kittens compared to the utter trash that was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, whose full biography had been added to the most recent edition of the _Comprehensive History._ A halfblood with delusions of grandeur, Riddle had perverted the ambitious nature of Slytherin house to his twisted own ends. He had claimed Muggle-borns were a blight on the face of magic (read: too powerful and numerous), that they had stolen their magic from more worthy (read: pureblood) witches and wizards, and that their deaths would restore magical power to the victims (read: inbread purebloods whose less powerful of magic was due to their own short-sightedness and arrogance).

Salazar was filled with rage at the stupidity of those who had followed Voldemort. He was an ambitious sort, but he was also proud. He would never have stooped so low as to blame his own failings on children who could not help the way they had been born, especially when he had been the victim of such prejudice for the majority of his life.

Salazar sighed and Summoned the book back to him. It obeyed, albeit somewhat skittishly, and landed in his palm still turned to the page that had enraged him.

It wasn't the deaths that bothered him – he had seen wars in his own time, fought off barbarians of both the magical and the mundane persuasion. Nor was he bothered by the way his line and values had been perverted over time. It wasn't even the hypocrisy of Riddle's actions that bothered him – a cynic at heart, he knew that very few people were truly honest with the world, and even fewer with themselves.

No, what truly bothered Zar was that he had no idea how to go about clearing his name. And until he knew that, he was stuck in the castle with several people who really did not like him.

Well, that was not fair. The staff seemed to be coming around on him slowly. Filius was an enjoyable companion, Aurora Sinistra was interesting to talk to (and an alumna of Slytherin, which helped) and just two nights ago Minerva had offered him the role of Head of Slytherin, should he be unable to return to the post.

Why, even the other night Herm- _Mistress Granger_ had asked him to pass the salt. Her low voice should not have sent a thrill through him the way it did, not for such a mundane request, but he took it as a good sign when his hand brushed hers and he felt that spark again. Now if he could only get her to talk to him outside of dinner.

Salazar rose from his chair, intent on returning the offending book to the library.

~SSHG~

"Oof!" Hermione landed on the floor of the corridor with a yelp, books scattering around her. She had run into something as she left the library, a very solid and handsome something.

 _Oh bugger._

"We really have to stop meeting like this," Hermione said as she sat up, rubbing her elbow. She'd landed on it fairly hard, but there seemed to be nothing broken.

"I do apologize, Mistress Granger," Salazar said, offering his hand as he regained his feet. She took it with some trepidation, wincing a bit when her hand touched his. Attraction sparked between them almost visibly – she thought if she closed her eyes, she might see the after-images of golden sparks flying from his hand to hers when they touched.

She closed her eyes.

She saw the after-images.

"Bollocks," she swore.

"I beg your pardon, but my apology was offered quite sincerely," Salazar said, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn't quite as tall as Harry, nowhere near as tall as Ron, but he still managed to tower over Hermione quite impressively.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," Hermione said swiftly, forgetting her resolution to not talk to the man who had ruined her life. "That wasn't in regards to you, well not to your apology anyway, but- oh, bollocks." His eyebrows had climbed so far up his forehead that they were in shouting distance of his hairline.

"You must think I'm crazy," she muttered, turning to gather her fallen books.

"No, not crazy," he said just as quietly, helping her. She managed to get six of the books tucked in one arm and held her empty hand out for the remaining eight.

"I think not, Mistress Granger," Salazar said, keeping the books to himself. "May I escort you back to your rooms?"

Hermione eyed him warily. In the last month or so, since his arrival, he had been nothing but a gentleman. Well, on the occasions she had deigned to talk to him.

"I suppose," she said, turning and gesturing for him to follow her. He did, a few paces behind her just like that day he had exited the Room of Requirement.

"Are you prepared for the new term?" he asked, startling her.

"No," she said ruefully. "I've been busy with other research."

"Oh? Do tell." She threw a glare at him over her shoulder.

"Minerva asked me to research methods for returning you to the past." Salazar stopped walking, and much to her surprise so did Hermione.

"And what did you find?" he asked, voice carefully smooth.

"Nothing. As far as I can tell, any time this has happened the person was supposed to be in the future. I don't know who says anything is _supposed_ to happen, really, but that's what all the authors said anyway."

He chuckled. The sound sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. She quickly spun and walked away from him, trying to outpace her desire.

She turned to find Salazar following her silently, his brow furrowed in thought.

"You only looked in books?" he asked. She snorted.

"Of course. What else am I going to do, go to the bloody Room and ask it to-" she stopped dead in her tracks, and Salazar missed colliding with her by scant inches. "Oh, oh I am thick. Why didn't I think of it sooner?" She started running toward the seventh floor, the sound of Salazar's chuckles following her the whole way.

~SSHG~

When they reached the room, Salazar was a bit out of breath. Hermione barely looked winded, despite the load of books in her arms or the distance they had run. She paced in front of the blank space where the Room of Requirement's door usually appeared, and frowned when nothing happened after the third turn.

"Bollocks," she said, setting her books down against the wall and crossing her arms in consternation.

"Is the room not cooperating?" he asked, mimicking her actions.

"That's a nice way of putting it. I asked for it to give us a place to send you home."

"Perhaps you might let me try it?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "After all, I did design it."

She turned to him, wide-eyed. " _You_ designed it? All the histories say that Rowena Ravenclaw did!"

"Rowena helped, yes, but the idea and intent behind the room were my own." He turned his attention to the wall. "The world was a dark place then. I intended for the room to be a safe haven for the children, should the castle ever be attacked." He shot a covert glance at Hermione, who was looking at him with an expression dangerously close to admiration.

"Oh," was all she said before gesturing for him to get on with it. He nodded his thanks before pacing thrice before the wall.

 _I need to find out why I'm here, and if it's possible to return to my own time._

Salazar smirked when an ornate oak door appeared in the wall. It reminded him of the door to the castle on his parents' lands, back in Eire.

Inside the room was a comfortable couch, a roaring fire, a coffee table with a stack of parchment on it, and three portraits. His breath caught when he saw the figures within the frames.

"Hello, old friend," the aged face of Godric Gryffindor said. "It has been much too long."


	3. Chapter 3

Slytherin's Rise

A/N: Told you it would go up quickly. On a personal note, this is my first completed story since college. Yay for starting the week on a high note!

One more shout out to Miss Silver Star, for whom this fic is written.

* * *

The Hogwarts Board of Governors was a diverse body, or at least as diverse as an inbred group of aristocrats at the top of an insular and self-righteous society could be. Why, just last year a woman had joined the Board for the first time in fifty years! Granted, that woman was Augusta Longbottom and she was as conservative as they came, but the Board considered themselves to be keeping pace with the times. It wouldn't do for the nation's educational system to be overly-progressive, after all.

Salazar Slytherin fought down the urge to smirk at the incredulous faces before him. Over half the Board had graduated from Slytherin House, and naturally these were the first to contest his claims.

"You say that you are Salazar Slytherin?" an imperious blonde man asked.

"I am," Salazar said, inclining his head. "I have already had the claim made through Gringotts."

The Board was too well-bred to snort, but they expressed their disbelief nonetheless.

"Are you sure you have not taken leave of what little remains of your senses, Headmistress?" the blonde asked, ignoring Slytherin for the moment. Minerva curled her lip in distaste.

"Quite sure, Lucius." He hummed noncommittally and the room lapsed into silence. Salazar waited them out, knowing that one of the more puffed-up Board members would be the first to crack.

"And what makes you think that you are fit to fill the role of Head of House for Slytherin?" the witch with the dead bird on her hat asked. "The last few years have been trying, mostly due to one of your descendants and that vile belief in purity of blood-"

Several of the other Board members began shouting, and the room descended into chaos. Minerva buried her face in her hands, muttering about how she just _knew_ this would be a bad idea, while Filius (who was seated on Salazar's other side) grew redder with each passing moment.

Quietly, Salazar removed his wand from his sleeve and cast silencing charms on the lot of them. Mouths continued to move indignantly until their owners realized no sound was forthcoming. Twelve irate pairs of eyes turned their gaze on Salazar, who calmly returned his wand to its hiding place in his sleeve.

"Now, I will explain," he said in a level tone reserved only for when he was truly angry. "My descendants acted of their own accord, and not out of any beliefs of mine. As a Muggle-born myself-"

Several mouths started moving, the Slytherin alumni livid with rage, but Salazar continued. "-I can guarantee that any child in my House will be safe and well cared for. I am well aware of what Riddle did to the wizarding community, and will do my utmost to ensure that no such threat arises from Slytherin again. You have my word as a wizard."

A flash of light sealed the oath, and he smiled at their incredulous looks.

"I wish only to clear my sullied name and return Hogwarts to the vision I shared with my friends. Magical teaching varied widely in our time. Hogwarts was begun with the intent to turn this isle into a beacon of knowledge and power the likes of which the world had not yet seen. I guess I cannot be too surprised at the way this message has been perverted by history, but I supposed opportunities like this only come along once a millennia."

His smile turned deadly. "Now, what say we put this to a vote?"

~SSHG~

Hermione walked between the aisles of her classroom, observing the fourth years' attempt at a Wit-Sharpening potion. Snape had liked to save it for the middle to end of the school year, but she thought her students could benefit from the brew earlier. She rolled her eyes as two Gryffindor boys sniggered at a piece of paper ineffectively hidden beneath their brewing station. Even from here Hermione could tell it had likely been ripped out of a magazine.

"Pennyworth! Wayne! What have you got there?" she said in her bossiest tones, swooping down on the unsuspecting boys in a fashion reminiscent of Severus Snape.

"Nothing, Professor!" they said in unison, attempting to hide it from her. She raised an eyebrow and silently summoned the parchment.

"Wicked," a pair of Gryffindor girls said from behind her. She sent them a little smirk while she unfolded the glossy paper. Based on the naked, posing witch, the boys had smuggled in a page from _Playwizard_. She sighed and re-folded the magazine page, slipping it into her pocket.

"I am glad I started with this potion. Obviously the two of you will need it, if you thought bringing such lewd material into my classroom was a good idea. Detention for both of you!" They groaned and hung their heads.

Hermione had a fleeting thought that, were it not for Voldemort, this could have been Ron and Harry during their school days.

"No moping, you brought this on yourselves," she said as she made her way back to her desk. There was only ten minutes left, but she wanted to go over her notes for the modified _Amortentia_ before her brewing session with Salazar tonight.

She barely contained her goofy grin at the thought of the dark-haired wizard. Things had certainly changed for them in the month since their trip to the Room of Requirement.

" _We did wonder what happened to you," Helga Hufflepuff had said as they sat down. "One day you're perfecting this room, and the next-"_

" _I am sorry," Salazar said, and much to Hermione's surprise he seemed sincere. "I never meant to leave you all."_

" _We know, Zar," Gryffindor reassured him. "We searched for ways to bring you back, to find where you had gone, but there were none."_

" _It was the room," he said. "I was in the room, and when I left I was in the future. I'm not sure how or why-"_

 _Hermione didn't quite believe that. Call it a hunch or witch's intuition, but she had a feeling that Salazar knew exactly what he was doing here._

" _I have looked for a way to return-"_

" _There is none," Rowena said imperiously. "Time travel is mandated by the gods. None can do so without their blessing, and such a gift should not be spurned."_

 _Salazar bowed his head in acknowledgment while Hermione frowned. In her experience, the study of magic was agnostic, almost atheist. To hear one of the lights of reason of Wizarding Britain speak so forcefully about gods unknown and unseen made her uncomfortable._

" _But you have not introduced us to your friend," Godric said, abruptly changing the subject. He winked lasciviously at Hermione, and she noted that Salazar stiffened._

" _Forgive me, this is Hermione Granger. She is the current Potions Mistress."_

" _THE Hermione Granger?" Rowena asked breathlessly. Hermione's eyebrows had shot up._

" _You've heard of me?" she whispered._

" _Of course! Second to Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, you are the most famous graduate of Gryffindor," Rowena said with what could only be described as fan-girlish glee. "Although Reginald informs me that you were almost placed in my House. I have been most put out these last ten years."_

 _Salazar sighed and covered his eyes. Hermione could almost_ _ **feel**_ _him counting to ten._

" _Yes, Rowena, this is that Hermione Granger. Though I daresay that once you speak to her, she will rise in your estimation above all others."_

 _Hermione almost missed the knowing look Helga was giving Salazar – she was too busy gaping open-mouthed at the blatant compliment the famous Founder had paid her. She had barely said more than three words to him in over a month! How had he come to think so highly of her._

" _Indeed?" Helga asked._

" _Oh yes, Mistress Granger is clever, cunning, resourceful-"_

" _And very beautiful," Gryffindor finished with another wink. To her mortification, Hermione blushed._

Hermione and Salazar had spent several hours conversing with the portraits, missing dinner completely. They had learned what happened after his disappearance, both with the school and in his personal life.

" _Morrigan did WHAT?" he had shouted, momentarily losing his cool and collected veneer._

 _Rowena had shaken her head sadly. "She sent your daughter to Hogwarts. She was in my house, hateful girl. Always going on and on about the purity of blood and how Muggles were going to slaughter us in our bed."_

" _Just like her mother," Salazar said under his breath._

" _You were married?" Hermione asked. To her great surprise, Salazar appeared embarrassed._

" _I was not as discerning in my youth, and was bewitched by a young enchantress from my isle. She had no desire to marry a Muggle-born, no matter how powerful or well-connected, but that didn't stop her from taking my gold when it suited her needs."_

And that's how Hermione learned that Salazar was a Muggle-born. She was shocked to say the least, but the new knowledge added depth to her perception of him.

 _After bidding farewell to the room and the Founders, Salazar had walked her back to her rooms. Hermione had been awkward and Salazar quiet, but when they reached her door he had smiled._

" _That was so exciting," she blurted. He gave her a confused look. "Meeting the Founders. Other than you, I mean, I've met you and even though we don't know each other that well-"_

" _Peace, witch, I understand what you meant," he said. His smile was fleeting. "I hope that you will be amenable to knowing me better after tonight."_

 _Hermione looked down, blushing furiously. She was glad her hands were full of books, otherwise her nervous habit of twisting them would have betrayed her. She hadn't felt this fluttery since-_

 _A wave of scent washed over her, masculine and woodsy. Like her Amortentia variant smelled. She looked up at him with wide eyes._

" _Yes," she said. "Yes, I would be amenable."_

 _His smile left her weak-kneed._

She was weak-kneed now, at the end of her class watching her fourth-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws mill about as they cleaned up their stations. She had spent most of the evenings of the past month with Salazar, working on her potion and learning about how magic was taught a millennia before. He was courteous and respectful, intelligent with a wry sense of humor that made her giggle like the innocent schoolgirl she had never been.

Hermione knew herself well enough to know that she was falling for him, that her potion smelled exactly the way it was supposed to. She just wasn't sure if he would be there to catch her.

 _Well_ , she thought to herself, eyeing her notes, _there's one way to find out._

It was time to be brave, and maybe a little bit sneaky. It was time for her to be the real Hermione Granger again.

~SSHG~

Salazar followed Hermione (oh! How he loved being able to call her by her name) back to her rooms after dinner, as he had for the last month. He was grateful to his friends for putting Hermione at ease about his beliefs – even from beyond the grave, they continued to support him as no others had in his short life. Now that she knew he was not responsible for the pureblood ideology that clouded her childhood, she had been open, bubbly, and engaging.

He found her more lovely with each passing day.

Salazar Slytherin was no fool. He had cataloged in minute detail every moment of that fateful day, the day he ran into Hermione Granger and changed his life forever. He remembered the idle wish made in the Room – the wish for a wife.

He honestly knew no better candidate than Hermione, but had yet to find an elegant way to present his suit. Things were different now, and he had no idea how to navigate the social conventions of this new world.

He was still pondering this dilemma when they reached her warm and inviting rooms. He smiled as she bypassed the comfortable beige couch and headed straight to her lab – a large room with several cauldrons and mobile chalkboards covered in runic arrays. He loved watching her in her element, surrounded by fumes and knowledge.

"We're going to test the potion today," Hermione said abruptly, her back to him.

"Are we?" he asked, allowing amusement to color his voice.

"Well," Hermione turned to him with a hopeful look in her eye. "I was hoping you would. So that I could observe the effects and-"

Salazar raised a hand, amused despite himself. He had no doubt the potion was perfect, nor did he doubt the outcome. It seemed the bold little Gryffindor had dropped an opportunity in his lap, and as the original Slytherin he could not pass it up.

"I trust you, Hermione," he said. "By all means, allow me to test it."

He was amused at the way she tried to keep the hope off her face.

"Alright then," she said, ladling out a serving of the shimmery lavender substance.

"In the interest of science, could you tell me what you smell?"

He wafted the spiral fumes to his nose, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes: vanilla, new parchment, and chalk.

He smirked and raised the cup to his lips, downing the lot in one gulp. He tossed the cup over his shoulder. The Amortentia made him bold.

"You, witch," he said, sweeping her into his arms. "I smell you."

Their kiss was everything he could have wished for.

* * *

A/N2: And that's all folks! Thanks for humoring me. Regular broadcast of "By Candlelight" and "Invisible Lines" should resume within the next week.


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